Stranger in a Strange Land
by thespin
Summary: Thomas A. Anderson was lost. Completely and utterly lost.
1. Part 1

August 2004

Disclaimer: Not even the title is mine. I stole it from Robert Heinlein. I also borrowed heavily from "The Animatrix" and stuff from The Zion Archives.

Author's Note: I've been writing this on and off since November, and I'm really not sure what it became at all. I just wanted to get it out there. Big thanks go to Imp, Juliet, Amata and Andy for taking a look at various parts for me, and special thanks go to Tamsin, who put up with my crap and kept kicking my ass on this one.

I always appreciate people's honest opinions, so if you think something sucked as, feel free to tell me.

------------------------------

Stranger in a Strange Land

_  
  
"To be matter of fact about the world is to blunder into fantasy -- and dull fantasy at that, as the real world is strange and wonderful."_

-Robert Heinlein

Thomas A. Anderson was lost. Completely and utterly lost.

The television blaring at the other end of his small bedroom was starting to make his head pound, the cheering of drunken revelers grating in his ears. Five minutes to midnight. He fumbled under his ratty, wrinkled blankets for the remote, and blindly punched buttons. The screen fizzled, and died, leaving him alone in the silent, cluttered apartment. He rolled back onto the bed with a groan.

The digital clock readout glowed green in the darkness. He dragged eyes away, focused instead on the unbroken white of his ceiling. He squinted until the darkness seemed to swirl before his eyes, movement in shadows across the room. He scrubbed tired eyes with the heels of his hands, and turned back to the clock, counting down seconds.

11:58

11:59

The minutes were endless.

12:00.

Noise erupted somewhere below him. A party. "Happy fucking 1998," he thought bitterly, and rolled over to bury his face in his pillow.

Some time later, he awoke with a start. Sweat trickled down his forehead from dark hair, and mixed with the damp already on his cheeks. Tears. He couldn't remember dreaming, but this wasn't the first time he'd woken up crying.

Hot. It was too damn hot. He was going to suffocate. He pulled himself off the bed, legs tangled in sweaty sheets. He stumbled to his tiny window, fumbling desperately with the rusting latch. He wrenched the sill open, and shoved his face outside. Chill air rushed into his room, whipping over his cheeks, soothing burning skin, and he could breathe easy again.

He would not sleep again tonight. That, he knew. He padded to his computer, and slid into the well worn chair, repaired half-heartedly with duct tape. The monitors whirred to life, the familiar sound oddly comforting. Thomas sighed with relief, bent over his keyboard, and began to code.

-----  
  
Thomas was five years old, and his mother was telling him about snow. They were on a plane from Florida, on the way to Maine to visit his grandparents. He'd never seen snow, but it didn't sound all that interesting. He had his forehead pressed against the cool glass, watching the cars on the highway beneath them grow smaller. Everything looked too small.... the city looked like the models his father spent so much time carefully constructing in their basement. The trees looked as if he could simply reach down and pick them up, move them where he wanted. He smiled to himself as he imagined spelling out his name with tiny houses.

He watched the clouds for the rest of the trip, and if he squinted, he could almost see himself flying through them, torrents of cold air rushing past him as he wove through the fluffy white.

That morning, Thomas hadn't been able to keep the smile from his face as he sat fidgeting over his toast. His mother looked up at him from over her notes on her newest patient, and ruffled his hair.

"What are you so happy about this morning?"

He jabbed his fork at the toast, and tucked his feet up underneath him. "Had a dream."

His mother raised her eyebrows, amused. "Ooooh, what about?"

The small smile became a grin. "I was flying."

His mother smiled back at him. "Sounds fantastic."

The grin faltered a little, and he began to poke at his toast again. He glanced uncertainly up her, brown eyes wide. "Aunt Ellie says dreams are important. That they can tell you things." He reached for his orange juice. "Maybe I can fly."

His mother chuckled, and patted his shoulder. "Oh, honey. I don't think that's exactly what Aunt Ellie meant. Everyone dreams about flying. It's completely normal."

Thomas visibly deflated, and bent back over his breakfast.

-----  
  
He was twenty-seven years old, and he was going nowhere fast. He was trapped, a prisoner in his dead end job and his own scummy apartment.

Beth rolled closer to him, murmuring something unintelligible in sleep. He glanced down at her, and was almost surprised at the lack of affection he felt. He wasn't exactly sure what he was doing here. Desperately lonely a few weeks ago, when she had asked him out to dinner, he'd agreed, hoping to take the edge off the ache. And afterwards, when she'd asked him to stay the night, he'd agreed again.

But now, he just felt empty. She'd made him remember his distaste for sex... too hot, too sweaty. Beth was just another in the long line of women who had pursued a relationship with Thomas, hoping to improve him, to save him. But she didn't ease the loneliness. If anything, sleeping with her made him feel worse.

He rolled away, unable to bring himself to touch her, to hold her any longer. He moved to the very end of the bed, his back to this woman that he hardly even knew, and fell into uneasy sleep.

_  
Expanses of pale skin, interspersed with gleaming metal. Cold, bone-chilling but refreshing, true. _

_Green rain pouring down around him, soaking through the thin layers of his clothing._

His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, he couldn't remember where he was. The air in the apartment was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him. The relief that always came with the dreams dissipated, and he rolled off the old mattress to wedge the window open. He thought about going back to bed, but the body lying prone in his sheets made him turn back around.

He finally decided on collapsing into his only chair, and flicked on the television in the darkness. The screen cast an eerie glow over his apartment, and he watched the shadows dance along the wall until morning.

He's tired of this place.

When Beth woke, Thomas was curled up in front of his bank of hardware, a bowl of stale cereal balanced precariously on one knee, intently watching a chat scroll down his screen. She sighed heavily. It was the same way every time she woke up here, and she was sick of it. She rose, and gathered up her clothes. He didn't turn around.

"Tom, I'm going."

No response.

"I'll see you later this week?"

He shifted a little, and dark hair fell into his eyes. He mumbled something she couldn't make out.

She exhaled harshly, and passed a fist over tired eyes. "Or not." And with that, she did her best to storm out of the apartment, careful not to trip over the coils of wires that littered the floor, and slammed the door behind her.

Thomas didn't even notice her leave.

----  
  
He'd been watching hackers since he was in college. One of his software design professors had told the class that to design secure software, you had to anticipate the weaknesses. You had to think like a hacker. A little overzealous, Thomas had decided to take that philosophy one step further.

He searched and searched, and after a tip from a classmate who was doing a little illegal business on the side, arrived at a colorful, seemingly innocuous website for "The Great Beyond Travel Agency." He'd poured himself a bowl of Cap'n Crunch, and started to dig.

His eyes were burning. There were layers upon layers of security. He knew he'd found it… and he was so close. He worked through the night, and missed his AI theory class the next morning.

The phone rang. He didn't hear it. The answering machine whirred, and a cheerfully feminine voice filled the room.

"Hi Tom, it's Annette. I sit next to you in theory, and I noticed you missed today. If you'd like, we could meet for coffee and I could go over the notes with you. Call me."

Who the hell was Annette? Not that he'd be calling her anyway. His first attempt at intimacy had been with a girl that had lived down the hall; she'd been been after him all year. It had been… awkward, to say the least. Not anything he was in a hurry to do again.

He shook his head, and bent back to the keyboard.

At exactly 1:03 am, his computer screen blinked off.

His stomach dropped.

_All that work… now he'd have to start all over again._

He bent dejectedly to reboot, but froze when the screen burst into color again, proclaiming "Congratulations." A synthesized version of Handel's "Alleluia Chorus" burst out over his speakers, the tinny sound echoing in the empty darkness of his dorm room. He'd done it. He was in. It was the stomping ground of the internet's most elite hackers. He'd passed the test.

----  
  
For months he monitored them, tracking their progress. There were chats and forums, where hackers shared decryption software, new ways to mask IP addresses, tales of victory and too-close calls, and lots of friendly banter. But he never joined in. He watched, and he learned. Thomas's skill and understanding grew, and his grades skyrocketed. Soon he was one of the top programming students in the department.

When he graduated, he was immediately offered a position at MetaCortechs, the premiere software design firm in the country.

His mother was so proud.

----  
  
"Tommy, your teacher called this morning."

Thomas froze over his cereal.

"She's worried that you aren't interacting enough in class. If you don't participate more, they might move you out of the honors program next year. And you wouldn't want to get middle school off to such a bad start, would you?"

He said nothing, and watched the light dance off of the milk in his bowl. He turned over the spoon, and caught his own distorted reflection, staring back at him, upside down. His mother sat down next to him, and rested her chin on her hand.

"Tommy, if you want to talk about anything, you know you can come to me. And not the way my patients do. I promise that I won't think that anything is wrong with you. I'm your mother. You can trust me."

He nodded into his cereal, and she rose, sighing.

----  
  
He was okay for about a year. He got up, went to work, came home, ate stale Chinese food and watched the hackers. But as time went on, and coding lost its joy, he spent less time sleeping and more time watching and reading. He found hacker internet lore fascinating, and god knew he needed the intellectual stimulation after hours in a cubicle. Creativity was not encouraged in the corporate sector, even if it might make a program more efficient. The first time he'd come in with a new solution to make one of their applications faster, his bosses had told him that the industry "wasn't ready for that yet." Bullshit.

He began to search along with them, brainstorming weaknesses in security applications and servers, though he never exploited them. He still never spoke in the chats, but he'd always loved logic games and brainteasers, and soon he found that figuring out how to bypass a system's shielding was one of the most elegant puzzles there was.

----  
  
He'd called in sick to work early that morning. There technically wasn't anything wrong with him, but he'd woken up that morning and hadn't been able to bear the idea of shaving, getting dressed, and shoving through the crowds on the subway. So instead he opened all of his windows, and sat on the middle of his bed surrounded by piles of blankets, watching reruns of old television shows. But after everything had resolved itself happily for the fifth time, he couldn't watch anymore.

So he logged on instead, and decided to dig into the other threads. See what he could find.

Under a section entitled "Puzzles," he found a topic with more replies than he'd ever seen on the forum.

A single glowing subject line, asking simply…

"What is the Matrix?"

----  
  
He tugged at his mother's sleeve, and she glanced down at him, a little exasperated.

"It's too hot."

She exhaled heavily.

"I want the air conditioner."

Bending down to him, she placed a hand on his back. "Tommy, it's fifty degrees in here! We put the air conditioner on this morning, remember?"

He shook his head stubbornly. "Too hot."

She stood again and picked up the dish she'd been drying. "Why don't you take your bath, and I'll be up to tuck you into bed in a few minutes."

He huffed a little, but turned and started up the stairs.

As he sat on the edge of the porcelain tub, fiddling with the faucets, Thomas had an idea. He reached for the cold water tap.

-----  
  
Thomas flicked on the lights in his tiny bathroom, and bent to turn on the cold water. Whenever he was frustrated, this was how he relaxed… lately it had become routine. He shucked off his worn t-shirt and slid out of his jeans. Soon he was stepping gingerly into icy water, and he sighed as he relaxed into the tub. The cold was a welcome relief. Thomas always felt at ease this way.

He took a deep breath, and slid lazily under the surface.

_What is the Matrix?_

It seemed to be the hacker's Holy Grail, of a sort. There were pages and pages of discussion, research, dissection. No one could agree on what it was, and for many, the search seemed all-consuming. He'd seen the Matrix mentioned in passing before today, but had always thought it was some other website, or perhaps a strange hacker catchphrase.

_Obviously not._

When he had to come back up for air, the calm would evaporate as it always did after the beautiful dreams.

He stayed under as long as he could.

----  
  
When he finally looked up from his monitor, he realized he was alone in the apartment. Beth must have left… the light outside his window was dusky. He glanced down at the time display on the corner of the screen. Nearly six p.m.

Christ. He'd been at it all day.

He stretched, shoulders popping, and moved to turn on his television, catching the opening fanfare of the nightly news. Swiveling in his chair, he turned back to his keyboard to check his mail.

"…over 70 people dead in an attack today at National Airport. The suspects are believed to be members of the cell headed by the terrorist known only as Morpheus."

Morpheus. A name he'd seen all too often mentioned online. A legendary hacker. Sometimes associated with the… mystery.

He couldn't look away.

An hour later, he lay in his bathtub, letting the chill water lap lazily at his chest. Something about that news report had struck false. From what he could gather, the attack hadn't been premeditated. All the casualties seemed to have occurred while the terrorists were trying to make their escape. Several swat teams, and a platoon of military armed guards had been evaded, and many of them had been downed. By three people, two of whom were reported to be relatively small women. He'd been to National before. There weren't a lot of places to run.

The terrorists had disappeared without a trace.

Thomas made a decision. He had to know more.

He worked quickly, silently in his dark apartment, the only sound the clacking of keys and the rumble of engines on the street below drifting in through the open window. It was such an easy hack; they'd never even know he was there. The State Police Department wasn't exactly technologically savvy. He found the reports, downloaded them, and got out quickly, making sure to cover his tracks just in case.

There was nothing. Some names, grainy security camera captures of Morpheus that he'd seen floating around his forum, a list of causalities. The report was unusually bare. Not even a mention of the call to the airport, no record of the dispatch order. Absolutely nothing.

Maybe he'd find something somewhere else. Another state, maybe. News reports, anything.

He didn't rise from his chair until he was late for work the next morning.

----  
  
"Tommy, why don't you have a friend over this weekend? You'd have fun."

He shrugged. He wasn't really sure if he had any friends. The other kids at school were too noisy, too…. overwhelming. In his opinion, weekends were much better spent in his room, where it was cool and quiet.

"I'll call someone. We can have a play day."

----  
  
Thomas slid into his chair, heart hammering in his chest. His hands were sweating. He was going to do this. He had to. Months of searching, hacking on his own, and he was no farther then he'd been that first night.

A whisper. "_Thomas_…"

He spun around, and nearly slid out of his seat. No one there. There's no one there.

He was losing it. Completely fucking losing it. Just nerves. His mind was playing tricks on him.

Turning back to the screen, he gathered his resolve, and navigated to the thread that he'd been reading so much of lately. He took a deep breath, willed his fingers to stop trembling, and hit "Reply."

****

**  
An Error Has Occurred!**

**To post you must be logged in. If you don't have an account you can register here.**

Shit. Shitshitshit. He needed a handle. Of course he did, what was he thinking? Every decent hacker had a handle. Christ, he was new at this.

New. Neo.

It wasn't classy, but it worked. He entered as little information as possible, and he sent it.

That night, with sweat trickling down his back, he posted everything he knew, everything he'd found. None of it added up… nothing made sense. They needed to take more drastic measures. They had names. Real names, from police reports. Maybe they could hack FBI. Or even IRS… they would probably at least have some old personal records, maybe could give some clues on how to find Morpheus.

When he checked the forum the next morning, hair tousled from sleep, there was a reply. The IRS had been done before, they said. Years ago, when they'd first started looking for Morpheus. They hadn't found much of anything then, and the hacker who had done it had dropped off the radar a few weeks later. Some people speculated that he'd found Morpheus, and had joined him. Others figured that after he'd cracked the d-base, there wasn't anything left for him to do. He'd simply gotten bored. No one had been able to crack IRS since then.

Now that he thought about it, Thomas vaguely remembered the IRS hack. He'd still been young… a few years out of college. He'd been impressed.

The respondent had posted a link to a thread with more information on those thought to be involved with the Matrix… those thought to have the answers.

The name he'd been given was Trinity.

----  
  
Hundreds of miles underground, the first officer of the hovercraft _Nebuchadnezzar _held her breath as Thomas A. Anderson saw her name for the first time.

Everyone else was sleeping, and the ship was quiet, except for the gentle whirring of the ventilation system. She drew her knees up to her chest, and watched the code cascade down the screen. Was it her imagination, or did he linger over her information, reading more carefully?

There was something about him that reminded her of herself. They'd gotten a batch of new potentials, coppertops displaying brain activity typical of rejection of the Matrix. He was nothing special, but for some reason, he was the one she liked watching most. She was fascinated by how quiet, how curious he was. He was strange. He had money, but seemed to be happiest living in a cold, dingy apartment.

So different than she had been. She'd been angry her entire life, seething on the inside. The smallest thing would set her off, and the rage would wash over her, until she was afraid she would be consumed by it. When she'd finally been freed, the anger dissipated, and though she searched for it sometimes, late at night, she couldn't find any of it lingering. She'd finally realized that it was captivity that she'd been struggling against, furious that she wasn't controlling her own life, furious that she was a slave.

But there was something about him that she recognized, even if she couldn't pinpoint what it was. She curled up more comfortably in the operator's chair, and watched silently as he searched for her until he fell asleep at his keyboard.

-----  
  
Part II to follow. 


	2. Part 2

----

He was out of control.

Hacking for money, now, on the side, just to keep busy. To stay sharp, he told himself.

But who was he kidding? He couldn't force himself to do anything else. It was... addiction. But even stronger than the lure of the keyboard was the pull of that elusive idea. He thought of nothing but.

_What is the Matrix?_

1999. The start of another shitty year. He didn't know how long he could keep this up.

His eyes burned. He squeezed them shut, and heaved himself out of the chair, wincing as blood rushed to his legs. Rubbing sweat out of his eyes, he managed to get into his bathroom, and soon was slipping under the surface of freezing water with relief.

----

Trinity gave the monitors a passing glance as she moved to plot their next course to broadcast depth, and froze, eyes widening.

"Morpheus, I think you should take a look at this," she murmured, pulling up the brain wave analysis and code frame sections for that potential as she spoke.

He was there instantly, peering over her shoulder at where she was pointing on the screen, and she heard him take a deep breath. "Which one?"

"Neo." She looked closer. "Jesus."

"I've seen coppertops bend the rules of outside systems before, but never the rules of their own systems."

"He's slowing down the rate his body uses oxygen... so he can stay underwater longer." She took a deep breath. "Goddamn."

"This one is our new priority. But he's older. We need to watch him carefully, see if he manifests any other abnormalities."

He paused as he was walking back to the cockpit, and turned, smiling a little. "I have a good feeling about this one, Trinity."

She sighed heavily, suddenly exhausted, and went back to plotting their course, trying her hardest not to peek again at his screens.

----

He picked nervously at the hem of his sweatshirt, and scuffed the toe of his tennis shoes along the expensive Oriental rug. Billy had disappeared down the long hallway, shouting something about Nintendo. Thomas hadn't followed.

His mother had dropped him off that morning, despite his protests. In the car on the way over, he'd told that that he was hot. That he thought he had a fever. His mother had reached back and put a warm hand on his forehand. He'd flinched a little at the touch. She shook her head.

"No fever, Tommy. You're nice and cool."

"But..."

She'd braked at the light, and turned to smile reassuringly at him. "You'll have fun, sweetheart. I promise. And if it's awful.... it won't be for long."

He'd swallowed hard and nodded, and when they rang they bell, he'd clenched his fingers in his pockets to keep them from shaking.

He wandered through the large foyer, fascinated with the large mirror running along the length of one wall. He turned back to examine the glossy black and white photographs of a city he didn't recognize.

It was getting hotter.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement in the mirror behind him. He spun, but nothing was there. Must have been his reflection. He turned back to the wall, and reached out to run his fingers along the smooth gilt frame.

The wall gave under his fingertips, melting under them. His breath caught in his throat as small ripples spread out across the wall, as if it were a pond disturbed by a pebble. With a gasp he stepped backwards slowly, and glanced behind him at the mirror.

The wall in the reflection was still.

He turned back, shaking. The wall was still undulating slowly. Thomas choked, and stumbled backwards. Something connected with the back of his knees, and he tumbled to the ground with a yelp.

Billy's mother found him a few moments later, pale and silent, curled in the corner of the room behind an overturned coffee table.

----

The dreams were coming faster, more often. He'd gotten to the point where he'd close his eyes, and he'd suddenly be freezing in an empty street, rain puddling at his feet, green all around him. But, disconcerting as they were, the dreams were oddly comforting. He'd find himself starting to doze off, hoping for that blessed escape from his filthy apartment.

His eyes fluttered open, and as his mind cleared, he realized he was still at his desk. Choi was fucking late.....

The green cursor blinking on his screen caught his attention. He blinked, trying to orient himself.

_Wake up, Neo._

----

The music pulsed through the club; he could feel it pounding in his fingertips. He threw back some more of his gin and tonic; it wasn't good liquor, but at least it was cool. His T-shirt was sticking to his back under his jacket, and the scent of sweat hung heavily in the wet, warm air.

He wished he could simply disappear into the wall. He felt exposed, standing on the edge of the dance floor, though he doubted anyone was really paying attention to him, an unshaven guy in ratty black jeans amid this sea of slick black leather and gleaming PVC. Thomas sighed heavily, and crossed his arms. It had just been a dream. Idiot. There wasn't anybody here, and this was definitely not his idea of fun.

He should have just stayed at home.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned.

"Hello, Neo."

--

Her breath was cool on his neck, and his skin prickled in response. He shivered a little as she whispered into his ear. Eyes, like ice, were soothing in the heat of the club.

"What is the Matrix," he breathed into her hair, and was lost.

He'd never felt anything so... real.

When he finally made it back to his apartment, Neo didn't even check his email. Soon he was sliding underwater, lost in thought, lost in sensation.

_The Matrix...._

_Trinity._

That night when Neo shut his eyes, he was no longer standing outside in the storm. He dreamed of green rain, reflected in icy blue eyes.

----

He stepped off the curb, into the flood of pedestrians. Neo glanced at his watch. 10:03. Shit. Rhineheart was going to kill him.

Black business suits and briefcases were all he could see. He stared up at the sky, and realized he was hemmed in on all sides by towering skyscrapers. The people streamed around him and past him, and he watched faces as they pushed by. They seemed closed, somehow blank. None met his eyes, staring forward or at the ground, completely focused on where they were going. Neo's chest constricted, and he suddenly realized that although he was surrounded by people, he was still completely alone.

He doesn't belong here.

----

He couldn't believe himself. Walking towards Adams in the pouring rain, on his way to meet the leader of an international cyber-terrorism cell. He tried flipping the collar of his thin jacket up to keep the rain off his neck. Didn't help. This was crazy. He was a smart guy. Knew how to stay out of the way. Knew how to survive. When had he lost it?

He blinked, trying to shake off the sleep that still lingered at the corners of his consciousness.

_Maybe I'm still dreaming._ He smirked a littleThatmight explain the temporary insanity.

The bridge loomed ahead through sheets of rain, and he could hear the low rumble of a train in the distance. He hunched over against the rain, and made a dash.

10 minutes. He was beginning to think they weren't coming. The rain was pouring off the ends of the bridge in thick sheets, so thick he could hardly see the street. He shuffled, ran his fingers through soaking hair.

_Maybe I should just..._

Bright light in his eyes, and he squinted. A black car rolled through the sheet of water, slowing to a crawl. The engine whined as they slowed, and the door swung open. Neo peered into the dark interior. Leather creaked, and he caught a flash of green.

She leaned forward. "Get in."

He hesitated, and looked back. Back down his street.

He could see nothing but the rain. So he bent, and shut the door behind him.

----

Bright lights hummed on overhead, and Neo squinted against them, bringing a hand up to unstick his face from his pillow and to rub the sleep out of his eyes. He flipped over on the tiny cot, and his legs tangled in the sheets. He'd passed out with his boots on. Fantastic. He heaved himself up, trying to ignore the pounding in his head. He felt like shit, and his jaw was still aching from his impact with the blacktop in the Construct.

As Neo pulled his sweater off over his head, he caught the refection of his back in the polished metal walls. There was a neat line of metal plugs where the bumps of his spine used to be.

Pale skin broken by the shining edges of the metal....

His stomach heaved, and he didn't even notice when he knocked over the small food tin on the floor next to his bed. The next thing he knew, he was on his knees, bent over the Neb's metal toilet in the cold, tiny lav, emptying his guts. His forehead slipped down to rest on the lid, and he tried to slow the heaving breaths that refused to stop coming. The door creaked open, and Neo looked up. Apoc. He raised a quizzical eyebrow, and wordlessly, he offered Neo a clean rag.

When he managed to raise his head again, Apoc was gone.

----

His mother strode ahead down the long medical center corridor, and he had to skip a little to keep up with her. She looked back at him anxiously as she pulled open the door to her office. The lettering on the glass inlay in the door was cracked and faded.

Mary J. Anderson, M.D.

John T. Burton, M.D.

Kevin S. Tessier, Ph.D.

**Child Psychiatry**.

Thomas followed her tentatively into the office, and took the puzzle she gave him as she ushered him to a chair in their waiting room.

"We're just going to do some tests, sweetheart. Nothing to be scared of. I want to make sure that you aren't getting sick, that's all."

He nodded slowly.

"I'll be right back. You just play with the puzzle for a minute." She ruffled his hair, and disappeared through a heavy black door that clanged shut behind her. The sound echoed in the empty, sterilized room.

He could hear her voice, muffled through the door. She was talking to one of the other doctors.

"He keeps telling me about things that he sees, and I just don't know what to think. I'm worried it's some sort of pyschotic disorder. Visual and auditory hallucinations."

"It could just be an overactive imagination. He's very bright."

"I know, it's just.... this is close to the age that we see schizophrenia start to manifest. Late childhood, early adolescence. We don't have any family history but... He was at a friend's today and... I got a call from the mother.... It was just awful." She sounded like she might cry. "I'm just so worried about him."

"We can run a PET scan, and see if his brain activity fits any patterns typical of the psychotic disorders. And even if it does, medication has gotten so much better lately. He probably wouldn't have to be institutionalized."

She sniffled a little, and her voice was unsteady. "Thanks so much, John. I'll go set up."

Thomas blinked hard, but he couldn't stop the tears from rolling silently down his cheeks. Then and there, he made up his mind. His mother had too much to worry about already. None of this was real... just his mind playing tricks on him. He would keep anything else that happened to himself. She didn't have to know; he didn't want to hear her crying anymore.

----

Neo looked up from his breakfast as the mess hall door squealed on its hinges. Morpheus nodded a greeting as he sat down heavily across from him.

"There's been a change of plans. I have to conference with our Fleet commander this morning, so one of the others will be handling your training today.

Neo stirred whatever it was that was in the bowl that Dozer had placed in front of him earlier that morning, and sighed quietly to himself. "How long is training going to last?"

Morpheus's lips curved upwards. "As long as it has to." He pulled the bowl away from Neo and passed it to Switch, who was scrubbing dishes in the small sink. The small smile remained. A glint of teeth, as he cocked his head towards the door. "Go on. Trinity is waiting for you."

When Neo reached the Core, she was already in the program. Tank helped him settle into the chair wordlessly, and Neo clenched his teeth as the spike scraped into his head plug. He felt a gust of wind against his face, and opened eyes that he hadn't realized he'd squeezed shut to the familiar skyline of the Jump program. Trinity stood on the edge of the skyscraper, sleek and dangerous in her usual black leather and combat boots. She was looking out silently over the simulated city, a virtual breeze tugging at the ends of her gelled black hair.

She turned smoothly to face him. He awkwardly shoved a hand in his pocket, and twisted the other in his hair.

"Haven't I done this one already?"

She regarded him through dark lenses, her mouth tightening minutely. "You still haven't made the jump. We can't risk taking a crew member into the Matrix before they've made it. Inside, you have to be able to keep up with the group if we have to run."

He watched his own brow furrow in the mirrored lenses of her shades. "Do you have to run often?"

She turned away again, back towards the city. "Tank, just keep resetting until he gets it."

Neo frowned at her back and kicked petulantly at the gravel, hands jammed in his pockets. She stepped back to the edge of the building. "Come on." And without a backwards glance, she leapt easily, gracefully. Neo watched as she soared across the gap, tucking into a roll on the opposite ledge. As she stood and turned to face him, simulated sunlight flashed off her sunglasses. Neo took a deep breath as he backed up a few steps, and tried not to remember the sting of yesterday's impact with the asphalt.

He didn't even make it halfway across. Almost immediately after he cleared the edge of the building, he was hurtling downwards.

"Oof." His face connected with the asphalt. "Fucckkk."

He cracked open an eyelid, but his vision was swimming. Before he could clear his head, Neo felt a tugging at the pit of his stomach, and a wave of vertigo washed over him. He blinked, and found himself faced again with his reflection in black lenses, back again atop the skyscraper. He could see blood trickling from his lip. He watched the skin above the bridge of Trinity's nose crinkle.

His knees buckled. She caught his arm, and pulled him upright, bracing him. Her palm was cool against his bicep.

"Jeez." He tried to breathe steadily. "What _was_ that?"

"Tank reset. We're going to keep doing this until you can make it."

"That was so weird." He finally found his balance, and straightened his knees again.

Trinity folded her arms, and regarded him evenly. He couldn't ignore the way her shoulder muscles moved under the pale skin. "You looked down."

"What?"

"You looked down. You can't make the jump unless you know you can do it. No hesitation."

He shook his head, bewildered. "How can I know I can make the jump if I haven't actually ever made it?"

The corner of her mouth twitched. "What do you think Morpheus means when he talks about bending the rules of the Matrix?" She spun, running to the edge of the building, combat boots nearly silent on the concrete, and she jumped smoothly through the air, landing lightly on the other side.

He shook his head, and followed.

On his fourth try, he thought he'd made it. He was nearly across. But then a sports car roared down the street a mile beneath him, and he slammed into the side of the skyscraper he'd been aiming for. He slid down a story before tumbling limply to the ground.

He swore when he was reset, and ran again determinedly for the edge of the building. His next two jumps only made it half across the gap.

"Dammit!" he growled as his eyes opened after another unsuccessful jump, and kicked angrily at the ground. Something warm trickled into his eye and he swiped angrily at his face. His fingers came away red. Trinity materialized beside him, lips pursed, holding a small black case in one hand. She stepped close to him, and bent to unlatch it.

"You're frustrated, which isn't helping. Let's take a break, and you can calm down." She reached up towards his forehead, but he flinched away unconsciously. Stepping back, she exhaled hard out of her nose and raised both hands so he could see them. As an afterthought, she tugged off her dark sunglasses. Neo could read the exasperation in her eyes, and suddenly felt a bit foolish. "I'm going to clean up that gash over your forehead, alright? You can't concentrate on the jump with blood running into your eyes." He nodded, and she stepped in close, her hip nearly brushing his as she reached up to dab just above his eyebrow with sterile gauze.

Her cool breath tickled his chin, and all of a sudden, he was having trouble swallowing. Was it just him, or were her eyes a lot greener here than on the ship? She glanced upwards, and he quickly away. He turned his head, trying to look at anything but her.

After a few minutes and several bloody strips of gauze, she stepped back. His hand drifted up to rub at the back of his neck, and he looked down awkwardly. "Thanks."

"Ready to try it again? He nodded, eyes on his boots. "Don't try so hard this time. Just let it happen." He looked up uncertainly, and just caught a flicker of amusement in her clear eyes. "Free your mind." And with that she was sailing again over the gap.

He squinted across at her, and watched her her lips tilt upwards as she turned back to face him. His breath caught a little; he couldn't help it. He'd never seen her smile before.

Without thinking about it, he was running towards the ledge, and throwing himself into the air. Their eyes stayed locked. He landed hard on the other skyscraper, and was so surprised to feel concrete under his feet that he tripped over himself and pitched forward, landing hard on his stomach, the fall knocking the wind out of him.

He rolled slowly to his back, pressing a palm to his forehead.

"Ow."

Trinity's face appeared above him, her lips still curving upwards a little. "Eight attempts. Not bad at all. The average is around fifteen."

Neo moved his jaw experimentally; it felt hot and squashy where he'd fallen on it. "How many times did it take you?"

Her eyebrow rose. "Five attempts. Morpheus only took three." Neo grimaced, and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Don't worry about it." The curve of the lips became a smirk. "Cypher had to do it twenty-seven times. A Fleet record." She held out a hand, and after a moment's hesitation, he grasped it firmly.

She heaved him to his feet, and he wobbled a little. For an instant he could feel her breath on his neck, and he gasped a little.

And then they were both stumbling apart, looking everywhere except each other. A long-fingered hand drifted up to rub at the back of his neck.

When Neo finally dared to sneak a glance at her, Trinity's eyes were already hidden away behind dark shades.

Tank's voice boomed out over the cityscape. "We've got trouble, guys." Trinity spun on her heel, her back to Neo as she once more surveyed the cityscape.

"Pull us out."

----

She'd practically ripped his plug out, and was nearly up the ladder before he'd even managed to sit again. An alarm was wailing shrilly somewhere overhead. He blinked, disoriented as she faltered, and her hair whipped around as she turned back to him.

"Come on!" and she was up the ladder, heavy boots disappearing. He heard them land on the deck above, and pound down the corridor. Utterly confused, he rolled out of the chair to follow, but his legs buckled. He still wasn't used to coming out of the loading program. The ship jerked, throwing him forward into the ladder. Blinking, he tried to will the rungs to come back into focus as he began heaving himself up after Trinity, listening to eight pairs of urgent footfalls clanking above on the hollow deck.

----

"Shhh."

Neo was attempting not to breathe (or at least to breathe quietly), which was difficult considering he'd just sprinted up several decks. He wished vainly for a blanket. God, it was cold here. Cold like he'd never felt before, except...

He snuck a glance at Trinity. She was pale, fingernails digging into her elbows. Blue eyes flicked towards him, and then focused again on Morpheus, but in that brief glance, Neo caught something in her eyes that he'd never seen there before. She was afraid.

For the first time since he'd woken in this world, a cold sliver of fear wormed itself into his gut.

_Slow breaths. _

_In. . 1..2..3.._

_Out. _

_In. 1..2.._

He heard Trinity's quick intake of breath from the shadows beside him.

And then something silver, gleaming in the dim light of the sewers, slithered past the cockpit windshield.

And Neo stopped breathing.

----

Someone touched his forearm, and he blinked. Morpheus.

"You should sleep." Neo nodded, not really processing what his captain had said. "Trinity.."

She stepped forward, met Morpheus's eyes. Then she put her hand on his shoulder blade, and guided him carefully out of the cockpit.

_Death. _Neo nearly shuddered. That was what the sentinel made him think of. In his mind, he could still see the shining body of the squid, the sharp edges, buzzsaws and claws meant for tearing a ship and its crew to pieces.

He could die.

He had barely noticed that Trinity had led him into the Mess until she shut the door carefully behind them. She pulled a tin cup from a shelf, and filled it with stale water. He watched her sip carefully. Then she offered it to him. He felt disconnected from everything, and his tongue was like sandpaper.

His fingers trembled a bit as he accepted the cup, and she motioned for him to sit. She did the same, taking a place across the long table. He touched his lips to the metal rim. It was still warm from her lips, and he felt like he was snapping back into his body. He drank deeply.

She was watching him silently, and she looked like she understood.

Neo started to wonder if he should say something, but his train of thought was interrupted by Cypher's entrance. He plopped down next to Trinity, and took the cup that Neo had placed in the middle of the table.

"Rough night, eh guys? But then when are they not?"

She sighed. "Not tonight, Cypher."

He grinned. "Trin, if you need some company, you know you can always come to me."

She stood abrubtly. A stiff "Goodnight," and then she was gone.

Cypher turned back to Neo, idly scratching his moustache and smirking. "Don't let her fool you. She pretends to be distant, but she comes to me when she needs to."

----

He wandered into the Core, looking for something to do; he'd finished helping Cypher scrub down the mess, and had wanted to get away from the man as soon as possible. It wasn't that he didn't like Cypher... there was just something about him that made him uncomfortable.

Tank was at the Operator's station, clacking away at the keyboard. Trinity was jacked in at the loading station closest to the Operator. He moved forward to stand by Tank, fascinated. As many times as he'd been in the Construct for training, he'd never actually seen someone else plugged in.

"What's she doing?"

Tank looked up at him, his lips quirking upwards a little. "A drop in the Matrix. She's leaving information for another crew to pick up later." He glanced at the code. "She's making it right now. We're lucky... no Agents in sight."

Neo was watching her face. "She looks like she's sleeping," he murmured, and there was something in his voice that made Tank look sharply up at him. His eyes, however, were glued on her still form. The console beeped.

"Operator." He was silent for a moment, and turned back to the keyboards. "Exit is Lake and Fifty-third-- oh SHIT!"

Neo jumped a little, and turned to Tank, confused.

"You've got an Agent two blocks south and closing fast. Get out of there as fast as you can!" Tank punched the button to end the call. "Goddammit." He bent over his keyboard, pulling up maps and building schematics for the next few blocks.

After a long tense moment, Neo spoke. "Is she going to be ok?" His voice was tight.

No answer. Tank was typing furiously.

Trinity's heart rate monitor started beeping frantically, and Neo nearly tripped over a wire in his hurry to get to her side.

"Fuck," Tank murmured. "The Agent's in her sightline. This is going to be close." He was instantly on the phone again, giving her directions. Neo's fingernails bit into his palms

"Shouldn't someone go in to help her?"

Tank shook his head. "Not any other phone lines we can use close by." He turned back to the screens. "Holy Fuck. She just... she just..." He looked up at Neo, who was frozen, eyes wide and afraid, and nearly laughed with relief.

"Chill man, she made it. She's in the Construct. I'm pulling her out now." Tank moved towards the chair to unplug her, and Neo stepped reluctantly out of the Operator's way.

Trinity gasped a little as she came back into her body. She grimaced as the data port slid out of her head plug, and then Tank's grinning face was hovering over her, and he was pulling her up, holding her steady with a firm hand on her shoulder.

"How'd you do that? That was amazing."

She shrugged a little, and rolled her head to work the stiffness out of her neck.

"You really had Neo worried there for a minute, right man?" He chuckled a little, and they both looked to the other side of the Core, Tank grinning, Trinity a little surprised.

But Neo had disappeared.

----

He'd never seen anything like it. He tried to take it all in, brown eyes wide, head swinging back and forth as his mother led him up the walk to the house she'd grown up in. Everything was white and still, and the air was light. Crisp. Not like at home. It reminded him of a dream he'd had, something that lingered in the back of his mind but that he couldn't quite remember.

The door to the little Tudor cottage swung, light streaming out over the snow blanketing the sidewalk. His grandmother smiled out at them, and reached to help his mother with their luggage.

"It's so nice to finally have you both here, Mary." She reached down to ruffle his hair. "Merry Christmas, Tommy. Go in and say hello to your grandfather while I get you some nice hot chocolate."

----

He couldn't feel his legs anymore. It was like he'd been running forever, sweat trickling into his eyes. He'd tossed away the cell phone, and now all he could hear was the dull echo of his boots thudding against the ground in the dingy hallway. He had to get back. Had to get back. They were waiting. His elbow connected with the wood as he barreled through the door of room 303.

He found himself faced with his own reflection, mirrored in square dark sunglasses.

Pain. There was blood on his fingers when he drew them away. He stumbled back, and then the sound of gunfire filled his ears. His chest was on fire.

----

His mother and grandmother were having their annual good-natured holiday argument over the turkey they were stuffing.

"Mary, I don't like that you have him in daycare... you should be staying home with him. It's better for a boy to be with his parents when he's young."

"Mom, honestly. He's fine in daycare. It's a very nice preschool, and Tommy can play with other children his own age. The people that run it are fabulous with kids, and they really know what they're doing..."

Thomas padded down the hallway, past the open door of the kitchen. His grandfather had dozed off in the middle of their game of checkers, and he'd decided to go exploring. It was too hot inside, especially with the bulky knitted reindeer sweater his mother had insisted he wear. His grandmother had sent it last Christmas, and it had hung in his closet, untouched, since he'd opened it. The sweater went up, over his head as he got to the door, and it dropped to the floor as he wrapped small fingers around the ornate knob. The heavy door swung open, and Thomas stepped out into the cold in his t-shirt and jeans.

He liked how the snow felt, crunching under his bare toes. The sky was black, and everything was silent. For the first time in his life he breathed deeply, letting the chill seep into him, down to his bones. His knees folded, and then he was squatting in the deep snow, running his hands through the wet softness. So cold. So right, like the way it was when he dreamed. He sighed contentedly, and let himself fall back into it. A gust of wind stirred the banks, and soon snow had drifted to cover him like a blanket. He let his mind wander as he watched the grey clouds drift past the sliver of moon.

The cold was numbing. He couldn't feel his feet anymore, but he felt so peaceful. He didn't ever want to move again. His eyes slowly drifted shut, and soon he was back in his dreams, flying above the clouds into a looming blackness that he couldn't see through.

----

Neo slid down the wall, fists clenched, as the hall before him started to swirl. He pitched to the side, and his face hit the floor, hard. All he could think was that the Oracle had been right. The Oracle had been right. He'd saved Morpheus, and now he had to die. As his vision slowly faded into black, the last thing he saw were Smith's polished black shoes, inches from his face.

----

It was Everything, and it was Nothing.

_Neo..._

A whisper, like so many times before.

And then something was pulling at him in the darkness, pulling him back, back....

It was Her.

----

He knew he was the One. _The Oracle was right._ He knew it, the same way that he knew he was in love.

His eyelids fluttered open, and everything he could see was green.

----

There was something there. It was warm and wet, and he could hear the crackle and hum of electricity. But he couldn't move, something was holding him in. He was paralyzed.

And then it was gone, and something pressing down on his chest. He felt the cold seeping back into him, through his skin to muscle and bone. But for an instant, it had been gone, and he hadn't quite been anywhere. Lights were flashing against his eyelids, red and blue, and suddenly the sounds around him snapped back into his focus. Sirens wailed in the distance, and voices were buzzing anxiously. His arms and legs felt heavy. He was soaked.

"Tommy? Tommy, can you hear me?"

He gritted his teeth, and forced his eyes open. The lights were too bright, and he couldn't quite breathe. Red, then blue, red, then blue.

"Mom?" He could just make her out, her face much too pale, framed by black hair that faded into the night sky above them. She gasped, and threw her arms around him, squeezing much too tightly. Wrapped in her embrace, Thomas slowly realized that he was surrounded by a crowd of people and several ambulances. He could make out snatches of conversations... "letting him outside like that"—"had to restart his heart"—"what were the parents thinking..."

He'd never seen a real ambulance up close before; he'd wanted too look inside one ever since his dad had given him a model ambulance for Christmas. He craned his neck to look, but his mother just pulled him closer.

His hands found her shoulder, and he shoved, prying himself away.

----

Her hands were shaking so badly that she nearly dropped the wrench. Her eyes fell shut, and she clenched her fingers into fists, feeling her nails biting into her palms and focusing on the pain. _Pull it together. _Her body slowly relaxed, and she finished tightening the bolt, fastening the control panel in place.

Trinity had spent a tense two hours after the EMP blast helping Morpheus to staunch Tank's bleeding. After far too much blood, they had finally gotten him stabilized and sedated. Morpheus was watching him now. He'd sent her to reroute auxiliary power to the communications array. The EMP had fried nearly all of their systems, and though they'd managed to broadcast a distress signal before the Sentinels had made it into the Core, there hadn't been enough time to transmit their coordinates to Zion.

Neo had hardly been able to stand, weak from the internal bleeding. She'd managed to get him into her cabin, the closest to the infirmary. He'd seemed dazed, had allowed himself to be supported, led through the ship and lowered onto her small cot.

Trinity hugged herself tightly. The temperature had to have dropped twenty degrees, and it was likely to get colder. The ship was always freezing, and without the warmth the engines provided this close to the surface...

Well, she just hoped that this was going to work. Muttering the closest thing to a prayer she'd even thought of for years, she flicked the power on. The system shuddered, and then the communications system crackled to life. As she reached for the headset, a button on the console flashed red, indicating an incoming transmission. She slipped the set on, and patched the message through.

"Trinity."

The words came through in a rush, a verbal torrent that only one member of the fleet had ever been able to manage. "Jesus. Trinity, it's Sparks. We've been trying to get the Neb for hours. Got the distress signal you sent, but could only trace it to Iota sector. We need your co-ords to send a ship." He paused. "You do need a ship?"

Trinity sighed. "Yes. 80-22 and 175-38."

He was all business, and that relieved her. "Not any ships near you. The _Gnosis_ can be there, five hours minimum. Power?"

"Only enough to power communications. EMP blew all the main systems."

"Injuries?"

The question was routine, but Trinity knew its significance. They would have pulled up the feed from the Matrix by now. They knew. She was glad that it was Sparks, if it had to be anyone. If it had been Jax, god, he'd have her going over the thing top to bottom. Sparks wouldn't ask.

"Four crew, one injured."

Silence for a long moment, and the static crackle in the empty Core made Trinity's throat constrict.

"Ice is on her way. You take care of your crew, Trinity. Ghost is hovering, and told me to tell you some Zen mumbo-jumbo. But it sounds like bull, so I'm exercising my veto."

She sat, heavily. "Thank you, Sparks."

"I expect a fruit basket next time I'm in Zion."

The connection buzzed, and then was silent.

----

Neo had been falling in and out of consciousness ever since Trinity had left him. Fragments of dreams from his old life played before him: green rain in an empty street, and men that became code that became men again. He felt as if all the heat had been sucked out of him; he couldn't remember what it felt like, being warm.

The heavy door creaked as she pushed it open, and he started, not at all sure anymore of where he was.

"Take these." She helped him sit, and he looked at her questioningly. "Iron supplements. It's too cold to put you on an IV. The blood would freeze." He nodded, and chased the caplets with the water she offered him.

He heard her sigh; she touched his hand, and she froze.

"Jesus, Neo, you're freezing." And he was shaking. She squinted at him in the dim light, and (_shit)_ his lips had a blue tint. "Fuck." He was much too thin to deal with temperatures this low; he had no natural insulation. If she didn't get him warmer, she wasn't sure he would last the five hours before the Gnosis got to them. "I'll find more blankets."

He couldn't be sure of how long she was gone, whether it was minutes or hours. But he was brought back to the ship from his half slumber by strong hands on his shoulder.

"There aren't any more." He already had both his and hers. She regarded at him for a long moment, and then resolutely, she pulled her sweater over her head. He blinked, confused for a moment. She wore a thin tank and he could see her plugs along her arms, and when she turned, he saw the long line of them beginning at the base of her neck. Pale skin, broken by metal, but this time he felt no revulsion. They were beautiful.

She bent over him, tugging her sweater over his head, and pulling it down over his torso. "Try to rest." He nodded, and she moved to tug the blankets closer around him, but he reached out. A quick breath hissed through her teeth as his fingers brushed her upper arm, traced the uppermost plug.

"Will you be alright?"

She swallowed against the tightness in her throat, and touched the side of his face.

"Trinity!" Morpheus. Oh god, _Tank_. In an instant, she was gone.

--

_Code flowed around him, clinging to his skin like raindrops. The street was empty, but he was running from something. It was too cold, too cold, he needed that warmth. This wasn't an escape. He couldn't make his legs move; the muscles were stiff and his movements sluggish. His clothes were sopping and heavy, and then he tripped, was falling..._

"...Neo!" His vision cleared, and he was on the ship again, her hands gripping his arm. He felt numb, frozen. Clenched his jar to try to keep his teeth from chattering. His lips still looked blue.

"What happened?"

Her lips tightened into a thin line. "Tank went into arrest. We managed to restart his heart. But we need a real medic." Her hand reached down, touched his own. "You're still too cold."

She bit her lip, wondering what else she could possibly do. And struck upon an idea.

Trinity drew back the blankets, and to his surprise, lowered herself onto the bed next to him. She wrapped them hurriedly in blankets, and began rubbing Neo's arms, desperately trying to create some friction.

Her hands were so warm. He sighed, and gradually his teeth stopped chattering and his skin didn't feel as much like ice under the palms of her hands. She curled herself around him, determined to keep him warm. But she couldn't help her lips from curving upwards as his arms lifted to wrap around her waist.

Her hair was tickling his face, and he could feel the heat from her skin through his clothes. Warmth spread though his body, and for the first time in his life, Neo welcomed it. He liked it.

For the first time in his life, with Trinity's warm breath tickling his neck, Neo was content.

**"_If our lives are indeed the sum total of the choices we've made, then we cannot change who we are. However, with every new choice we are given, we can change who we are going to be."_** ----The Outer Limits 

-end  
  
spin  
2004


End file.
